


Dive into the dark

by SaturnChild



Series: Fratt Week 2020 [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Caring Frank Castle, Deafness episode, First Kiss, Fluff, Fratt Week, Fratt Week 2020, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Frank Castle, lots of hand-holding, temporary deafness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27252019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaturnChild/pseuds/SaturnChild
Summary: The first time Matt lost his hearing, it had been Frank’s fault. The world had never felt scarier, darker and more silent. He wished it to end, he wished he’d just die.The second time was after Midland circle, and he thought his life would never be the same again. Eventually, it came back; and he had a mission to finish.The third time wasn’t anyone fault, really. But Frank was there anyway.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Series: Fratt Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988260
Comments: 6
Kudos: 152





	Dive into the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Because 'Human Disaster Matt Murdock' is the most accurate tag ever, I just couldn't let Fratt Week pass without using it at least once.

__

Matthew didn’t remember with clarity at this point how they had started working together in the first place. It happened organically and he didn’t think much about it at first. He doesn’t know how to accept help, that’s true; but when it comes to saving lives and helping people, Matt isn’t one to refuse the assistance. So when he is struggling to deal with a hostage situation south of 45 th street, inside an amateur drug lab and the Punisher decides he needs the help, he’s just happy he could get the blackmailed mules out of there.

In the end, he didn’t have much of a chance to thank Frank personally for his help, because the cops were already on their way and they wouldn’t react kindly to the armed vigilante. 

Next time, if he remembers correctly, Frank was the one in a tight spot. He had a bullet wound to his left leg - Matt could the overwhelming heat of his skin around the area, the coppery and bittersweet stench of blood that only got stronger, he could hear the bullet shifting inside his muscles as he limped his way through a whole gang by himself, a stab wound on his shoulder and a vertical slice on his arm that, despite being shallow, was pouring blood as fast as Frank’s makeshift bandage could hold. 

So Matt did what he did best - beat everyone senseless, until him and Frank where the only ones conscious in the warehouse. Frank was a pain in the ass with how hard-headed and stubborn he could be, but he was also a marine and he knew his limits pretty well. So he accepted Matt’s help and Claire was called to the rescue. The whole process of taking out the bullet was a novel, however, they did it as well as they could in the floor of Frank’s safe house. 

From then on, they’d find each other when they needed help. Sometimes Frank would even contact him for information, or he’d ask him to keep his ‘bat ears’ open for any names or gang operations in town. They had a not-so-reluctant partnership inside the vigilante business, even if Matt wasn’t out most of the week. After all, he had made a promise to Foggy he would go three nights at most, four if it was an emergency. The discussion and agreement, according to Karen, had been something in between scary and amusing. Two excellent lawyers making compelling points and using as much legal jargon as a conversation between friends could hold. 

That day, however, Matt had been the one to call the Punisher for a hand. There was a way too big operation involving the Albanian mob; word was on the street that there had been kids overdosing on a new untested drug being sold in Hell’s Kitchen and that it had something to do with Albanians. Matt had confirmed the rumors and beat the location out of one of theirs, leaving him with Mahoney at the 15 th precinct. 

“How we gonna do this, Red?” Frank inquires, not really surprised when the black clad vigilante didn’t display any signs of being startled by his sudden appearance. The younger man having probably heard his heartbeat five blocks away or smelled his scent or whatever it was he actually did to recognize him without fail anytime. The lawyer shifts his head in a nod towards the ex-marine, a small gesture of greeting. 

“Frank” the man sighs where he is crouched, ears turned towards the building where, according to Matt’s ‘source’, they would be meeting today. The Albanian’s, apparently, were fond of evening barbecues or something of the like, and Matt would, from time to time, scrunch his nose like a rabbit - he figured it was something with the smell. “There are 23 people inside. 18 of them are carrying guns. Two on the fourth floor, eleven on the third, six on the second floor, four in the first. Most of them have a knife or two, I can’t smell much, the walls are too thick. There are only three exits for them, one is the front door, another, the back door and, apparently, there’s an underground connection to old subway stations. We can get in through the roof access, fifth and sixth floor are empty, so we should be able to get inside unnoticed.” 

“Lemme guess, non-lethal only?” Red sighs.

“You do what you think is right, Frank. I don’t agree with it, but I’d be hypocritical at best, an asshole at worst, if I tried giving you moral speeches at this point.” Castle nods, assessing the lawyer carefully. In the last few months of their acquaintance, the marine had noticed how much, despite his still relentless moral compass and urge to help and save, Matt’s priorities had shifted. He was worried about the kids, about taking the Albanians out of the picture. “But in a perfect scenario?” and there’s the Red he knows, and he’s already smiling in amusement as the other does the same, tiny smirk on his goddamn perfect lips. “I would like if we aimed for non-lethal, yeah”

“Let’s go kick some ass then, you little shit.” 

He should have seen it coming.

He should have smelled it, heard it, anything. He had avoided situations like this more than once before, it wasn’t exactly unexpected or any news, to be honest. But Matt didn’t smell it, didn’t hear it, didn’t sense it or anything of the like. 

Frank had been using a pistol this time, his AK-47 strapped to his back, hunting knife always available on his belt and a bowie knife on his combat boots. He had more guns and ammo on his body than anyone else at the building and it was enough to scare most of them into rash, reckless decisions on their part. He had been aiming for the kneecaps and hands and torso, avoiding major damage to vital organs. Matt, however, had been way too busy with two heavy-weight guys trying to smash his head into the wall.

The first one had a set of brass knuckles and dodging from  _ those _ , while avoiding getting stabbed by the other was a real buffer. But he managed, devilish smirk in place when he managed to kick the second guy’s wrist (he smelled of cirrhosis and vodka and  _ axe body _ spray, not a good combination), his knife flying away from his grip and bones making a small  _ snap _ that told Matthew he had dislocated the joint. He grunted in pain, but soon got back to work, trying to hit him with as much force as the other.

They were on the second floor by this point, and the cops had probably been notified of the gunshots. All it took was a moment of distraction for one of the brass knuckles to hit him in the ribs, breath wheezing quickly out of his lungs in response to the sharp pain. He staggered back, already pulling another punch, but was a second too slow, and another hit in the face threw him to the concrete wall. Cirrhosis and  _ axe _ spray guy took advantage to kick him in the stomach, and he had to swallow the bile in his throat to pull himself together enough to jump, using the brass knuckles guy as support to swing his body, legs and feet together, and kick the other square on the face. 

Still using the way-too-big man’s shoulders as support, he viciously kicked the back on his knees, throwing his legs around his neck and holding the man until he’d gone limp in his hold. 

He heard it in the last split-second. Frank was at his three o’clock, hands quickly and efficiently emptying the cartridge and loading it back again, only to shoot another two guys that were way too slow. But the third one, a tall woman that smelled strongly of dog and nicotine, breathing quickly and erratically, had already pulled two grenades out of her pocket.

Matt had only a second to get to Frank and throw him away from the double blast, covering the bigger man’s body with his own. He was a second too late, however, to try and cover his ears. The last thing he heard was a shout of  _ “Red!” _ in Castle’s voice before the blast, and then everything went quiet. 

It wasn’t the first time Matt had an episode of deafness. It had happened when Frank shot him in the head and it had happened again after Midland Circle dropped on top of him. He knew those past episodes had been temporary, but both of them had taken away the way he saw and understood the world around him and there wasn’t anything scarier for someone like Murdock. That’s why, when he finally noticed the heartbeat under his hands, feeling it through a thick vest, he started panicking.

Because the world was dark,  _ dark and silent, and it felt like everything was gone.  _ It felt like getting blind all over again, back when he was nine and his most important sense had been sight. His breath was rattling in his ribcage and maybe he was hyperventilating, but it was the last thing he thought about at this point.  _ Because it was too dark and the texture didn’t make as much sense as they did and oh my god what if it doesn’t come back, what if he never hears Foggy’s voice again it’s too dark I want Foggy want Foggy--  _

__ He computed the vibrations in the back of his mind, too busy trembling and trying to make himself as small as a target as possible. Because he didn’t know where the blows would come from, he didn’t know how many enemies were around, he didn’t know how to dodge because he didn’t know where the walls or everyone were. He recognized he was shaking hard somewhere in the back of his mind too and that he could feel the small displacement of air, as if someone was talking. He knew he was holding his ears, hands trembling as he pulled on his hair, trying to ascertain he could feel.  _ He didn’t feel real, he didn’t feel  ** real. ** _

And then, suddenly, a hand grasped his elbow. Matt screamed.

“G-go away! Go away-” he tried to lash out, hands trying to push away whoever was trying to hurt him. “G-go away! L-leave me h-.. no no! Fr-Frank! F-f-frank!” The hands kept trying to grab him and he kept crying and shaking like the weak, pathetic idiot he was. And he wanted Frank, he wanted someone he knew, someone he could trust. Stick would be so disappointed.

_ You’ve gone soft, Matty. Dependent. Trust will get you killed. _

__ Foggy would never agree with him. God,  _ he wanted Foggy. _

The hands stopped trying to pin him down and went for his own hands instead, bringing them towards hard tissue. As soon as they settled them there, they pulled him closer, putting them under the... vest? It was hot and the tissue of the shit was slightly damp with sweat and blood. But he could feel it - the strong heartbeat underneath. Steady, strong, thumping rhythmically. 

“F-Frank?” the chest under his hands vibrated in the way Matt recognized as the man’s voice. Frank was speaking to him. “F-frank, Frank I can’t h-hear... Can’t hear...” the marine’s chest vibrated again, his deep, gravely voice thrumming through his thorax like a bass. Castle took his hand again in his, opening his palm and tracing something into it.

H-O-M-E-?

“Y-yes, please” he answered him immediately, eyes still filled with tears. He tries to orientate himself with Frank’s body to get up, but he seems to think it’s too much of hassle, for he decides it’s easier to just cradle Matt’s knees and back in his arms and carry him like a newly-wed bride. He just soaks on the comfort of not being alone this time, making the situation much more bearable to the blind man.

They get to his apartment under twenty minutes and Frank helps him under the shower. He is respectful but caring and gentle, but despite it all, Matt can still smell the hormone signals in the air, telling him of the other man’s arousal. He is too tired and scared to properly reciprocate but he smiles at what he hopes is the man’s face. 

It’s scary and he knows he’s still trembling, but Frank is sweet and keeps close to him all the time. One arm around his hunched shoulders, the other hand holding his, tracing words into his palm every time he needs to communicate something to him, or only to reassure him when he thinks Matt looks frazzled or scared. He helps him bathe and helps him steady himself as he pats himself dry with a soft towel. Only then he notices his injuries, but Frank probably already had, because he guides him to the sofa after Murdock pulls his briefs on. 

His trembling is finally subsiding when Frank leads him to his bed, injuries properly bandaged and attended to. 

“Stay?” he whispers, hands holding tightly to Frank’s clothes. He doesn’t answer for a moment, Matt already tying himself up in knots at the thought of being intrusive or needy or weak. But Frank takes his hand in his properly as he fumbles with something and Matt can hear small thuds and muffled deep sounds that are probably the beginnings of his hearing coming back. Not much later, Frank’s laying carefully by his side, hand still holding onto his.

When he is finally slipping smoothly into sleep, heart rate finally at a normal pace and limbs no longer shaking, Frank presses a tender kiss to his forehead and whispers something Matt can’t understand or acknowledge properly. But the soft, full lips are enough to send him into peaceful sleep and he hopes Frank will still be there when he wakes up. 

The morning after is not half as awkward as Matt had expected it to be. What with all the crying, desperate hand-holding and pathetic shaking and what-not. But, apparently and maybe not so surprisingly, Frank doesn’t think so. He is careful and mindful when waking him up.

“Can you hear me, red? You there?” And maybe the soft, pleased and infinitely relieved smile he gets in return is enough of a answer, but Matt croaks out a “Never thought I’d say it, but it’s good to hear your voice” in a raspy mutter that gets a laugh out of the Punisher. “Yeah, thought you’d be stubborn enough to be good by now. Hearing my thoughts, yet?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Frank. Why would I want to hear  _ your _ thoughts?” he sasses back and he knows by the drawled out “yeah” Frank lets out that he is rolling his eyes and speaking through a grin. And isn’t it weird that Frank Castle is grinning, nonetheless by something  _ Matt  _ said? 

He isn’t gonna lie, it does feel great.

“Brought you some breakfast, you be good and don’t move too much” the man tells him, putting a small tray of food into his lap. He can smell orange juice, eggs and toast with butter and... 

“Sliced bananas with cinnamon?” he asks with a confused frown. Frank shrugs.

“My kids loved it” Matt knows better than to bring attention to the mention of his kids.

“Frank. I know I look great at my age, but I’m not a kid.” Frank laughs at that and, even if he can’t see, Matt thinks Castle wears a smile beautifully. He can almost feel it, taste it. And it makes him grin lopsidedly in turn. They had flirted playfully once or twice during their team-ups, but this feels different. Intimate. Matt decides he likes it better like this.

“Yeah. Thank fuck for that.” Matt tilts his head carefully in confusion, not understanding the tone the man uses for that. A bit breathy, thoughtful. As if the man was pondering something.

“I don’t follow” but then, Frank is getting closer and coming into his personal space, his breath sweet with a vestige of orange juice and Matt’s toothpaste. “Oh” he breathes out, eyes wondering uselessly around, and not for the first time in a while, he wishes he could see. Wonders what Frank’s expression would look like that close. He can’t help how his hands wonder up, fingertips slowly and deliberately making their way to the other man’s face, tracing his stubble-filled chin. It’s coarse and fuzzy, but it feels interesting in his hyperaware sense of touch. 

His lips are even softer than they felt on his forehead the night before, touching his so gently, molding themselves against his, slightly wet and slippery in saliva. He presses back, sighing contently through his nose, hands wondering to hug him by the neck. Frank separates them slightly, only a millimeter of space between their faces. 

“Only you’d be dramatic enough to go temporarily deaf for a kiss, Murdock”

”I'm calling the fifth” he chuckles at him. 


End file.
